Sneeze
by Mad Server
Summary: A multi-pack of ficlets in which Dean sneezes. Sick Dean, allergic Dean, snarky Dean and bossy nurturey Sam abound.
1. The Dean Version

Title: Sneeze  
Author: Mad Server  
Rating: K  
Characters: Dean, Sam  
Word Count: 100, on the button  
Summary: Dean sneezes.  
A/N: This is basically just some shameless Jessie-porn. It was written for the Enkidu07/Onyx Moonbeam drabble challenge extraordinaire, for the prompt word "hitch." Moonlight, I borrowed your eyelids fluttering shut.  
Disclaimer: I don't own these guys. You would know, because I would be bragging.

* * *

Dean's breath catches, his eyelids fluttering shut. A noisy gasp, hand hovering... then nothing but crickets. Eventually he blows his breath out in a disappointed rush, eyes dropping open, rolls his shoulders. He rubs his reddening nose, snorts irritably, adjusts his grip on the shovel. A couple half-hearted pokes at the dirt and he goes suddenly still... then his breath seizes again in a hitching, tripping, scraping gasp, climaxing _at last_ as the sneeze bursts thunderously against his elbow -- "_AASSSHchn!_" Snuffing messily, he fumbles in his pocket for an unused tissue, elbow carefully in place.

"Consider antihistamines," says Sam.

* * *

end


	2. The Sam Version

A/N: Somehow this is even more plotless than Chapter 1 (how?). It's for LynyrdSkynyrdRoadie, who's sitting on some sneezy Sam that some day, if we're good, she may share.

* * *

Sunny day, sidewalk. Spring's in full bloom.

Sam gasps, pauses, and sneezes. And again. And again. Each time, his head slams forward, hair flopping into his face, brushing his cheeks. Each time, he shields his nose in the crook of his elbow, lips brushing his sweatshirted arm when he rubs away the wetness.

"Lookin' a little flushed there, Sam."

"Yeah," Sam pants, and just has time to rub his itchy eyes before the tingling starts up again in his nose, forcing him to suck a breath deep into his lungs, hover aching and full of air, and then explode forward again in a spray of mist that gets shielded, this time, by his cupped palms.

"You gonna live?"

Sam doesn't even get the chance to straighten up, can only nod as the tingling starts again...

* * *

end


	3. The other Dean version

_A/N: Because two chapters were not enough. For rei17, on her plot bunny. One hundred words exactly._

* * *

"Sir."

_Damn._

"Sir?"

Dean lays both palms alongside his nose, presses them together.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Dean's eyes water as he gazes vaguely into the librarian's face, tries hard to look valuable. "Problubb?"

"There's a strict no-noise policy."

The itchy tingle buzzes, mounting.

"The thig is..." he can hardly draw enough air to speak... "if I dod't get dis article writted, by boss is gudda kill be."

Silence. Hope.

Then the sneeze explodes, catapults him forward so hard he bangs his head on the table.

"I'm sorry, sir."

He'll tell Sam the library burned down.

* * *

end


	4. The sequel to the other Dean version

_A/N: I can't stop._

_I'm told it's Sam's turn soon?_

* * *

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose, tries again.

"OK. It's like you're trapped in a vampires' nest with nothing but a pencil. And..."

"Vabpires pack. Wudd of 'eb would have a dife. I'd take it, add kill 'eb all."

"No. There's no knife."

"Thed I'd BacGyver wudd up."

"No props. Just the pencil. You're trapped. And this bed..."

"Do I have clothes?"

Sam grits his teeth. "You have clothes, but no buttons or zippers. And this bed is a secret trapdoor; if you climb into it, they can't get you. Because you're resting. Get it?"

Dean sneezes, snuffles. "Huh?"

* * *

end


	5. Road Block

_A/N: This one was mostly bunnied up by the birthday girl herself, masterful banterer slash drool-inducing h/c-er slash scary-sounding driver PADavis, with one element bunnied in by rei17. Happy birthday, Phoebe! And guys, Sam's turn's definitely coming. E/O Challenge, prompt: "dry."_

* * *

"Hah-_CHCHHghk!_"

Adrenaline spreads bright down Sam's chest as the Impala swerves - again. "Dude..."

Blank-faced, Dean sniffs, moseys them back over the dotted line. Sam eyes him.

"You totally caught that kid's cold."

"What? N... uh-_CHHHOOF! AGHHH-_huh!"

They jerk over a lane and a half. A car honks. Sam's mouth's dry.

"Dean, maybe-"

Dean grimaces ominously, does a shoulder check, and sucks in a cyclonic breath. Sam can't watch.

"_ASSHHSHSHoo!_" - tires squeal - "_KGHGHGGFFF!_" - gravel rumbles - "Ack_-HOOOOO!_"

When the dust settles, a cow's gazing in at them.

Dean takes a napkin from his pocket, meekly blows his nose.

"I'm driving," Sam announces.

* * *

end


	6. Bed and Breakfast

_A/N: This was rei17's idea._

* * *

"You poor dear," their landlady proclaims, and Dean throws Sam an uneasy look. "Sit down. I'll put the kettle on."

Dean starts in with a hoarse objection, but his voice gives out. With a cluck and a head-shake, she totters closer, feels his forehead.

"Poor thing," she croons. He's pale, startled, rapt. "And glands like melons! A cup of tea, and it's up to bed with you."

Dean turns, sneezes emphatically into his sleeve: "Ehh-_KHSHHH! _ _KSHSHH! KHSHH-_huh!"

She plucks him out three tissues. "And you let him work today?" she scolds Sam. "Just sit, honey-love."

Dean sniffles, beams, and sits.

* * *

end


	7. Pepper

_A/N: For Musica Diabolos, who totally bribed me with sick Dean. (Yum.) One element stolen with permission from Wicked Rebel._

* * *

Pepper. Black and grey. Flakes and flecks. Airborne.

It's a tight burn in one nostril, then a quick spread of heat through his nose.

"Sam?"

Sam ducks his head, blocks everything out like an actor or an athlete. The warmth builds, prickles, but he's holding his breath, focusing. _Mind over matter..._

A dangerous involuntary intake of air, and he resorts to the physical: rubs his tongue up behind his teeth, pinches his nose. He teeters - then the pressure recedes, and he sighs, looks up.

The grinder hovers above his lasagna. "Pepper, sir?"

He nods helplessly, raises his linen napkin. "AGH-_KHAHHH!_"

* * *

_And... scene._


	8. Discombobulated

_A/N: E/O Challenge ("worn"). PlatinumRoseLady, this one's all yours. Feel better soon!_

* * *

The world's a dirty white, with more flakes falling.

"Dude. No snot on my leather," Dean admonishes, shaking the cough syrup for him. "Keep the germ fiesta to yourself."

Dosed up, worn out, Sam drifts, his head tipped to the cold passenger window. When his nose throbs again, he shoves a sleeve-swaddled fist beside it. "Uck-_KHSHSHH_-uh! Uh-_KHFFF!_""

He coughs, sits up, and drags an arm under his nose. Blinks at the window, and registers a telltale splatter.

Feverish, heart thudding, he smudges it around. Falls asleep, and dreams of Dean tapping on his window, one eyebrow raised, squeegee in hand.

* * *

_Scene._


	9. Roadhouse

_A/N: For deangirl1, just because._

* * *

The coffin burns. Dean's pale, touchy - coughing up a lung.

The Roadhouse isn't far from here.

---

Sam almost wishes he'd been taking notes. Terse words, a flick of the wrist - mercury shaken down, buried in Dean's mouth to rise again - Ellen can be scary. Dean sags at the bar, lips tight and ashy, and Sam can't catch his eye.

Three minutes of quiet beer, soft words traded - Dean's a statue - then: "GhaaA_CHHOOOO!_" - the thermometer rockets clear across the counter, shatters on the floor as Dean dissolves in helpless, flustered hacks.

Ellen's eyebrows raise. "That's bed, hon."

Sam can't help toasting.


	10. Wiles

_A/N: E/O Challenge ("alert")._

* * *

It's the sneezing that alerts Sam: twos and threes, all afternoon.

"Do you have a cold?"

"No." Dean sneezes again, then clutches his throat and scowls, forcefully flips the page.

Sam sits back on the sofa, crossing his legs, laptop abandoned. "Really."

"Really." Dean meets Sam's gaze head-on, sniffles out a challenge.

"Cause if you did, I might have made you tea."

An eyeroll. "Might you have."

"With ginger. And honey."

Dean rubs his larynx.

"Like Jess used to make."

Dean balks, then sneezes twice more, scrubs at his nose. "Yeah?"

"But since you're fine..."

A wheezy, chastened sigh. "...Jess?"


	11. Eye Drops

_A/N: The pointlessness continues! Many thanks to GundamGurl17 for the awesome bunny._

* * *

"Don't touch it."

"It's itchy."

"Dean..."

"_EHHH_-hoo!"

"He's coming. Blow your nose."

"Couldd't we just..."

"No dice, Cyclops."

"Mr. Hammett? Come on in."

Sam pulls Dean up, still honking.

---

"How's it going in there?"

"Swibbiggly. HA-_XXHSHOOO!_"

"Uh-huh. Can I see?"

"_ASHSHHH-_ugk! ...Whoa, who idvited you?"

"Why's your face wet?"

"'Cause I like it like that. Why's your face id here?"

"Are these the eye-drops we got today?"

"If we'd already had subb, would we have had to stop add get bore?"

"Lean back. ...Captain Allergy. Work with me."

"I cad do it."

"Yeah, but supplies are limited. Tilt. ...Better?"

"Show-off."


	12. Pharmacist

Dean gawks down at the palmful of pills.

"I'm a pharmacist," she explains, and sounds just a bit self-conscious.

"No shit," Dean croaks. He picks out a capsule of... hay?

"That's echinacea."

He tries to sniff it, just makes himself sneeze.

"Bless you." She shifts closer, points to a bright blue tablet. "This one's a decongestant."

"Really." Their thighs are touching. "What're these?"

"Vitamins. Multi- and C." He can feel her boob against his arm, feel the good warmth of her.

Dean snuffles. "Christo?"

"Sorry?"

"Uh. Favourite band." He takes the proffered water, downs the medicine. "So... where were we?"


	13. Red

_A/N: For writergirl94, who might possibly like sneezy Dean as much as I do._

* * *

"Brick?"

"Maybe around the edges..."

"Russet?"

"Russet's brown, Sam."

"Fire engine?"

Sam and Bobby trade searching looks.

"Personally, I'd call it cherry," Bobby offers.

"_Huh-huh-haAAAA_-TCSHSCHCHHHHH!"

"Oh," says Sam. "Yeah."

The waitress reappears, sets the draft down in front of Dean.

"You doe what, sweetheart?" Dean charms through a mass of napkins. "We're gudda deed ad O.J., too."

"You could probably use one, hon."

She turns, and Bobby drags the beer across the table, hefts it appreciatively. "Now this is russet," he says, and sips.

"That?" Sam cranes. "I would've said mahogany."

Dean scowls, snuffles wetly. "You guys are a-... _aaAAAh_--"


	14. Tenderness

"I thought this was what you wanted."

"It was. Things changed."

Sam shifts in bed, props his head on his hand. "What things?"

"I don't expect you to get it, OK? You've just gotta trust me."

"But, Dean..."

His eyes are watering. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

"I don't understand what you want me to do."

"Bbb-_FFFFGGHGHH-_uh! _HRRRRRRSHSHSHH! _Hah-_HAHHHTCHCHHH-_gfkkhkTCHchh!" Dean lifts a tissue, hesitates, and lets it drop. He sniffles. "I can't. I just can't. You've gotta go back and get the kind with lotion, Sam."

Sam sighs, kicks back the covers. "Just those?"

"And cyanide."


	15. Leprechaun

_A/N: For sneezy sidjack. With something Wicked Rebel's been waiting for. And a leprechaun._

* * *

"Friggid' lepre... lep... _hhh_..."

"Those ones are good on you."

"...L-Lepre... _h-hihh_..."

"They look like they fit."

"_Hghh_... lepre_hehhhh... "_

"Colour's not bad."

_"HAAHhhhh_..."

"You getting enough oxygen?"

"Lepre_HAAAAASHSSHHH-CHKGHKHHH! ._..Leprechaudds..."

"Gesundheit. Look, I know they're not the old ones..."

"...with their freaky little awls..."

"But different can be good, right?"

"...goid' straight for a guy's threads..."

"How do they feel?"

"...Is duthigg sacred eddybore?"

"...The pond where the leprechaun lived, apparently."

"You bead icebath!"

"I know, man."

"I _luhh_... loved those jeads."

"We should get you home."

"D'you doe I... _ihhhHh_... d-did Carly Blair idd those?"

"And now our wardrobes become separate."

* * *

_A/N 2: Leprechauns are supposed to be shoemakers, according to the lore (I'm so Sam right now), hence the awl which is a shoemaker's tool, if anyone's WTFing about that, which would be completely understandable, and in fact if you worked your way through the WTFs that the stuffy-talk probably kicked up and made it as far as WTFing about the awl in particular, you probably should get a prize, but then stuffy Dean-talk is kind of a prize in itself, and I'll just stop talking now._


	16. The Coudt

_A/N: Because trying-not-to-sneeze-and-failing-miserably!Dean makes me happy._

_Sam girls... I need your help. I promised somebody a sneezy Sam chapter awhile ago, and I still don't have any ideas. What do you want to see? Inspire me!_

* * *

"Hgh_TSSS!_"

"Seven."

"Hgh_TCHCHHgk!_"

"Eight."

"Huh_CHUHHshuhh!_"

"Nine."

"Huhh-h... hhhHH... whew."

"Nine..."

"Ow. ...Gibbe the kleedex. ...You tryid' to bake Guiddess or subthid'?"

"I hate to break it to you, man, but healthy people don't sneeze nine times in a row."

"Well, this wud does."

"I don't know. If it honks like a goose..."

"Are you-_hooo_... hihhH..."

"Nine and a half..."

"...Ugh. ...Dude, eduff with the coudtigg. Just watch for cops."

"Clear. I'm just saying, maybe we should steal some soup while we're here."

"I dod't deed soup! I'b hah_HAHTCHOOOO!"_

"Ten! Ten sneezes! Ahh-ahh-ahh!"

"What are you, the Coudt?"

"Aisle six, Snuffy."


	17. Curse, in which Sam gets a turn

_A/N: Sam girls... you so rock. *bows to your collective powers of bunniness*_

* * *

Black cloth cradles white paper. Kitchen, steady candle flame.

"You are covered."

Slowly, deliberately, Sam scoops up dried dill, sprinkles it over the page.

"You are smothered."

Vervain now. So much depends on mental associations, and Sam's visualizing, working to equate the sheet with the curse.

"Trapped you stay..."

He doles out powdered ginger. The paper's almost buried. He thinks of white skeletons, leeched skin, the suffocating cling of paper.

"In every wahh... HAHhhh-hahh... h-h-HIH-KGFFHBP_JJJSHSHSHH! _HASH_SHHOOOOO!_"

Across the table, Dean snickers, brushing down. "Curry spice: three. Winchester: zero."

Sam sniffles, blows his nose... caresses his hexed laptop. "One more try."

* * *

_A/N 2: This is part of a (debates quotation marks) real spell, taken from a Wicca site. You equate the piece of paper with the curse you're countering... bury it in spices... wrap it up in the black cloth... and I do believe, bury it in the ground someplace; after that, the curse should be gone._


	18. Residual

_A/N: This one's for Hanson's Angel, who gave Dean a head cold ON TOP of pneumonia in her fic "Clinic."_

* * *

It's coming off the tarp in fucking clouds.

"_HASSHH_uh! Hit_CHCHHHHH!_"

He stumbles back, into something that clatters and falls, kicking up more.

"_HHAKHHH_uh! HAAh... huhhhTCH_TCHCHH! HISHSHSHSSH!_"

His hand shoots out, finds - a garden hose? He barks a shin; the nozzle smacks him in the forehead.

"_CCHHCHCHdgghf!_ Sud of a bitch!"

Dean wipes his streaming eyes, blows his nose in a napkin. The dust settles, and he peers through the gloom at his prize... approaches, reverent.

"Bobby, you sly fox."

He strokes the chrome on Bobby's old motorcycle.

"Well, ain't you somethin'. Name's Dean..."

With one last sneeze, he straddles her.


	19. Hobble

_A/N: Here's lookin' at you, sidjack. Two hundred words, early S4._

_

* * *

_

"Why are you limping?"

Dean scowls over his shoulder at Sam, face flushed in the early morning sun. "I'b dot libpigg."

"Yeah, you are."

"Doe, I'b... hih_HISHHSHHSH!_ HBP_CHHCHOO!_" He hunches forward in the gravel parking lot, sprays six sneezes into the crook of his arm.

"I could just bring you something..."

Dean sniffles elaborately, draws up beside the car. "You doe me. Hate to biss a party."

"It's breakfast. And you're sick. And limping."

"It's the dew fashudd." He's leaning against the passenger door, his back to the hills and the highway, already noisy at this hour. "All the cool kids are libpigg."

"It was the fight, right? The bar fight?"

Dean squints at the motel wall, seems to consider this.

"You weren't limping last night, though."

"I sleepwalked, OK?" Dean's nose wrinkles; his breath hitches. A pause... and he exhales. "Friggid' fell idta the bathtub."

"Were you dreaming about..."

He snuffles, pushes two fingers along his nostrils. "The Habburgler. Who cares. Let's go."

"We'll grab ice on the way back."

Sam drops into the car, leans over and unlocks Dean's door.

"I care, dumbass."

Dean holds his eyes, startled, then frowns, catches a violent sneeze in both hands.

"Yeah."


	20. Cats

_A/N: For CiZiwejes, on her bunny, which Dean is allergic to._

* * *

Cold, clear day. Slow walk down a driveway.

"HEH-uhhhh... it-_CHCHHH!_"

"That was a lot of cats," Sam offers, tucking his suit's handkerchief into Dean's hand.

"You're tellig bee-hh-h-heee... hgh-_HASHSH_uh!"

New tears flood Dean's puffy face; he scrubs at them, at his red eyes. Sam waits. Pavement's cracked, dandelions poking through.

"Hih-hrrrrgh... hrr-_RRRHRSHH!_"

Sam frowns, glances at the house. "This fresh air doing anything for you?"

"Hih-_ISSHHHSH_-yew! _KHKHHKHHH-HHOOO!_" A messy snuffle, a shaky step forward. "Ugh... witch or dot, I'b gudda kill her."

"C'mere," Sam murmurs, fishing the keys from Dean's pocket, unlocking the passenger door. "Let's get you some drugs."


	21. Drugs

_A/N: Fluffy bunny donated by deangirl1, and this was coincidentally also prompted for at the SPN Schmoop Meme on LJ. This continues from the "Cats" chapter, but you don't need to read it to get this. Yay plotless sniffliness!_

* * *

"Sab."

"Yeah?"

Nothing. Sam glances sidelong at Dean, sees flushed skin, slitted eyes, sun going down behind him. "What's up?"

"I forgot the... w-we have to go back for the... hh-_HUSSHSHH_-ugh!... the purple."

"The... purple?" Thick snuffles. Sam watches the road.

"Was all... shidy add... barvelous."

"Marvelous?" Dean's eyes are wet; his mouth's quivering. "Dude, how many Benadryl did you take?"

Two urgent sneezes. "I... f-feel ostrichy."

"Crap."

Motel. Sam corrals him inside, sits him, teetering, on his bed.

"The c-_HHHSSH! _The catfish..."

"The catfish are all OK, man." Clumsy noseblow. Sam rubs his shoulder, shucks off his jacket. "Shhh..."


	22. Car Wash

Sam rolls down the window, waggles his cell. "Hey."

Dean looks up, shuts off the pressure washer. He wipes his shirt - reddens, squints at the phone.

Sam hesitates. "What?"

"_H... H-H-HHH-HBBFFFF!_" Dean glowers, jams a sleeve under his nose. "Hh-HUHhhh... h-heh-EHHH-het-t-_CHHOOOO!_" He shakes his head, motions for the cellphone - sneezes into both hands, dropping the nozzle.

"Bobby? He'll call you back." Sam puts down the vacuum and climbs out of the car, into the muddy flow from its wheel wells. "Good thing you don't have cedar fever."

Dean gloomily accepts his paper towels. "You're hilarious."

"Yeah. And you're allergy free."

* * *

_A/N: Inspired in two rounds by Hanson's Angel (cedar fever and phone sneezing) and NOT AT ALL by cleaning my dad's car after having got it out of some sand it DEFINITELY WASN'T stuck in in Cape Breton._


	23. Fog

Foggy day.

"D-Did your husband have any unusual... _hih_..."

He's young, this agent. Wet hair, chattering teeth.

"Any unusual h-_ahh_... habits? Possibly concerning oatmeal? Hih-_KKHKGHHFF_-hh!"

He's sneezed into his tea, spilled it over his wrists, down his pants. Hissing, he passes the mug back and forth, shaking droplets off his fingers.

"I'b sorry." He snuffles, starts to wipe his nose on his sleeve, seems to think better of it.

She moves in with tissues, a towel. Waits while he blows his nose with flaming hands. Wonders how he knew about the oatmeal.

"My husband's gone. Come back when you're well."


	24. Space

_A/N: E/O Challenge. I dropped the ball on this one... I wrote "space" and then checked the email again and saw there was supposed to be some birthday Cas in here for Ghostey. Happy birthday anyway!! Here's hoping Cas shows up at your door in his trenchcoat and um, demands you teach him about this human mystery called "kissing."_

* * *

A loose thread dangles from Sam's second button. The pores in his chin pulse in time to Dean's heart: _big-small, big-small._

"So what do you think?"

A mosquito whines. Dean's boots are caked in sand. He wants to make a castle.

"Dean?"

Sam's eyebrows are scrunched up tight, the dark hairs crowding each other.

"Caterpillars. Defidditly caterpillars."

Sam stares, then shakes his head, erupts in laughs. Dean watches them puff from his mouth and scatter around the room.

"I love you on Nyquil."

"_Hihhh_-hih... HA-_TCHOOO!_"

There's cool fabric on his forehead. Someone's humming _Star Trek_. Dean drifts up into space.


	25. Snow Cabin

_And now a guilty, porny, not-very-thoroughly-thought-out but h/c-tastic fantasy. This is a missing scene for 5.08 ("Changing Channels") so SPOILER WARNING. I don't have a challenge to blame this one on. Please don't laugh. Aghghhh._

_Thank you to sidjack for the thumbs-up that led us here, and to Enkidu07 for existing._

* * *

Cold blue tingles, the joybuzz of being zapped through TV Land. Then Sam's on a doorstep, in a blizzard, with Dean's arm draped over his shoulder, Dean's weight leaning into him.

"Dean?"

Sam's cold, but Dean's teeth are chattering, his lips a doubtful purple. His face is white, his nose is red. He meets Sam's eyes and shakes his head once. Then his expression changes and he's snapping forward, sneezing into a massive ski glove.

"Gesundheit." Sam casts a quick look around, makes out mountains through the falling snow. "Are you OK?"

Just then the front door opens, and a rosy looking woman in curlers and an apron smiles out at them. She spots Dean and her manner flips to concern.

"What are you doing out in this? What happened to Dale?"

Sam turns to "Dale," waits for the damage report. All he gets is two more sneezes.

"I don't like the sounds of that. Get in here where I can see you."

Sam helps Dean in over the threshold, feels the limp in his step. Shivers flare up as they hit the warm atmosphere and Dean shakes hard against him.

"Hih-hih-_hihhh_... huh-_TCHHH!_" Dean almost faceplants but Sam's got him firmly around the waist.

"Dale! Poor thing." She's fussing with the zipper on his massive winter jacket, trading worried looks with Sam. Whoever she is.

Dean's definitely a bit out of it and he pushes at her hands, sniffling. "Sa... haaa... _haAAA_-TCHH!" The back of his mitt takes the spray.

Puddles are forming around their feet. Dean sneezes twice more, dislodging wet chunks of snow from his jacket and sending them splattering to the ground.

"It's OK... Dale," Sam says. "Our stuff's wet. We need to change."

The householder shimmies Dean out of his ski pants and snowboots and coaxes him, small and wobbly in his long underwear, over to the couch. Sam watches warily, shucking off his own gear.

"Stay put," she tells Dean. "What you boys need is some hot cocoa."

Sam sits next to Dean on the couch, lets Dean teeter and sink into him, still trembling violently. "Hey, whoa, you OK? What's going on?"

"Hrrr-_RRRSH! KUSSHH_-uh! _EHHSSHSHH!_"

"Got a cold, right? You mess up your ankle or something?" Sam peers down at Dean's feet, spots the damp streaks on the floor. "Were your boots wet? Crap... crap, Dean, you need dry socks."

Dean snuffles blearily at him. "H-h-huh... _HUTCHH!_"

"Aw, dude. You've got something..."

The rosy woman reappears with a tissue box. "Need these?"

"Thank you," Sam says, "yes, and you know what else we need is to get... Dale's feet dry." Sam's plucking out kleenex as he speaks, pressing them into Dean's icy hand.

"Oh, darn it!"

She's off down the hall in a half-panic. Dean's fingers are slack, thick snot trailing toward his lip.

"Ugh. C'mon, man." Sam gingerly takes back the tissues and wipes Dean's red nose, holds it to his nostrils. "OK... blow."

Dean shoots him an incredulous look over top of the kleenex, but then his eyes screw shut and he pitches forward again, convulses with sneezes. "_HIHH_-tchh! Hih-_ITCHCHH! PFFFKGH!_ AA-_TCHHHCH!_"

Dean squints at Sam and Sam stares at Dean and they don't speak. Finally Sam looks away, gently smudges Dean's nose, drops the wad onto the end table. "Right."

Their host reappears with a towel over her shoulder and a steaming basin of water.

"Feet up, Dale." Dean's half dozing against the back of the couch so Sam bodily lifts his legs, waits for the container to settle and immerses his feet in the warm water.

With a congested gasp Dean jerks upright and scowls at his feet, at his benefactor. He tries to lift them out and Sam tests the water, then holds him still. "It's not too hot. You need this."

Dean blinks watery eyes at him, snuffles and wipes his nose on his sleeve, leaving shiny streaks on the waffly material.

"Who is she," Dean croaks, just loud enough for Sam to hear.

"I don't know, man, but it looks like she wants to take care of us. Maybe that's our roles in this one."

Dean sneezes wetly and shakes his head as if to clear it. "Cad't thigk, Sab. Sud of a bitch."

"Just take it easy, OK? I've got your back."

Dean's eyes drift shut and he slips to the side, his head finding Sam's shoulder. It's warm, Sam realizes, cupping a palm over his forehead. Warmer than Sam wants it to be.

"Here's that cocoa," the woman in the apron says, reappearing with two sturdy mugs. "And a compress for you know who." She leans in close, slips the damp cloth onto Dean's forehead.

"How'd you know he...?"

"Dale never does anything by halves," she says. Suddenly Sam wishes she weren't part of TV Land, weren't part of a game designed to mess with them, because he kind of likes her.

"You got that right."

Tingling. Static. Fuzz.

_Here we go..._


	26. Fresh Air

_Have this one too. It's S4... and I'm fuzzy on my S4 and can't remember if we got a scene like this with Bobby or not, this conversation I mean, but, if we did, Dean definitely didn't have a cold in it, which he obviously should have._

_

* * *

_

"Dean. Gimme a hand with something."

Dean's on his feet, pale and creaky. "What's up?"

"We need firewood."

"Oh." Dean glances at the crackling fire, at Sam still slumped into the couch, texting. "Yeah."

"I'll warm up the truck."

---

Dean stifles a sneeze into his sleeve as he crosses the yard, fumbling with his jacket zipper. He opens the passenger door and stumbles, catches himself on the truck bed. He's panting out white puffs Bobby can see.

"Been drinkin'?"

Dean shoots him a warning look from darkly smudged eyes. He climbs into the cab. "Couldd't sleep. UH-_TSHH! _HIIIH-_IIISHHH! ETCHCCHHH_-uhh!"

"Damn, boy." Dean's straightening up, honking into a handful of tissues. "You know what's good for you, you'll head straight for bed when we get back."

"Add biss Y&R?"

Bobby puts her into drive.

---

"How's it going with Sam?"

Dean doesn't look up, keeps arranging wood in the flat bed. "How do you bead?"

"He's different from how he used to be. Don't tell me you ain't noticed. That summer you were gone? It changed him."

Dean snuffles, tugs at his work gloves. "So he grew up a little. So what?"

"He dunn't need you the same way he did before."

Dean's jaw works. A fluffy snowflake lands on his shoulder and slides off. "Well, thagks. HAH-_KRRRSHH_-uh!"

Bobby watches him scrub his pink nose. "But you listen to me, kid. You're a fool if you think he dunn't still need you."

In the back of the truck Dean shudders, crosses his arms tight. His tone's flat. "How so?"

"He loves you, Dean. He near went crazy when you were gone. He needs you to be there, with him. That's all."

Dean kicks a log thoughtfully.

"I know you went through a lot, son. I don't know details, but I do know hell ain't one of my top five vacation spots. And lord knows I've crawled into my share of bottles, but you've gotta see that drinking's not helping Sam, and it's not helping you."

Dean's hot-cheeked, glitter-eyed.

"Look at you. You're running yourself down. Not sleepin', makin' yourself sick. I care about you, you big dumbass. And I know you're hurtin', but you've gotta find another way to deal with what's eatin' you."

Dean sniffs, looks at the sky. "Are we fiddished?"

---

Sam's in the kitchen when they get back, frying up some eggs.

"Hey," he greets them, taking a pull on his beer. "Who wants scrambled?"

Bobby watches Dean shrug out of his coat and sneeze hard into his armpit. He grimaces, palms his stomach. "Just sleep for bee."

Sam frowns at him, then glances at Bobby.

"I'll take his," Bobby says as Dean retreats toward the stairs, sniffling into his hands. "Fresh air always gives me an appetite."


	27. Life Savers

_A/N: Guys, it meant a lot to me that you didn't laugh at the longer, pornier chapter. I knew you wouldn't, but still. You rock my socks into tiny little threads._

_If your sneezy Dean craving has had time to grow back, have three more drabbles._

_

* * *

_

"_TCHHCHCH!_"

Dean straightens up, snuffling into his sleeve.

"Not sick my ass."

"I said I was fide."

"You also said there was kryptonite in green Life Savers."

Dean scowls. "Hih... _HISSHHSHSH-_UH! Dabbit." He sniffles again, thumbing his red nostrils. "You got a dapkid?"

"Try the john, Sneezy."

"Dod't eevedd, bad. Just gibbe a freakid' kleenex add I'll be good to go." But he stifles two more sneezes into his wrist as he turns, surveys the lobby.

Later Sam finds him white-faced in the bathroom, one hand gripping the sink, the other pinching tissues around his nose.

"Sucks beigg sick."

"Yeah."


	28. Drive Thru

"What's wrong?"

Dean shakes his head, gasps and presses a wrist to his nose. His forehead creases, his breath suspending.

_"Hello? Can I take your order?"_

Dean exhales shakily, drops the arm. "We n..." Another shuddering inhale.

_"Sir? Could you repeat that please?"_

Dean explodes in sneezes. A cupped hand flies to smother them. His cheeks flush.

"T-Two... _HIIIISHJJSHSHUH!... _ch-eeseb... _HOOOFFFF!_ Heh_-TCHHCHGHKGK!"_

Sam frowns, leans in. "Two cheeseburgers, two cokes, a salad and a large fry."

Dean's hunched over his palm, motionless, eyes squeezed shut. He manages some air, wipes his hand on his jeans.

"Thagks, Sab."

"And extra napkins."


	29. Power Of Suggestion

"Farm."

"Yep."

"Hey what's that, a chicken coop?"

"Where?"

"Full of feathery chickens?"

"Uh."

"All those ticklish feathers, swirling in the air?"

"Are you odd subthig?"

"Chickens that'll get slaughtered and served with lots and lots of pepper?"

"Hih... sud of a bitch."

"Spicy, dusty, drifting pepper?"

"EH-hehhh... I hate you."

"That tickles, and itches, and burns?"

"Hehh-HRR... _RRRRRSHSHSH! ETCHGHK! _AAAA_-TCCHCHCHHHH!_"

"Oh. Are you OK?"

"Where'd you put the dapkids?"

"If only we were in a motel, resting comfortably and doing research. We'd have kleenex."

"You're about to have a handful of snot down your neck."

"They're in my pocket."


	30. Aftershocks

_A/N: Extreme gratuitousness warning. Possible innuendo. Read at risk of confusion or inexplicable steaminess._

* * *

The sneezes are like aftershocks: tight little bursts of air and warm snot, twitching through Dean, making him keep the tissue there, just keep it there because he's not finished, may never be finished.

"'Swrong with you," Sam soothes in the dark, across the gap between their beds.

"_TSSHSH! HTCHCH! _...Duthigg. Sdot city. 'Sfide."

"You sick? Take a cold pill."

"_HFFFHHSH!_ Ehh, 'sOK."

A sigh. Sam's breaths even out and Dean's keep rushing out of him, quiet explosions that tingle in his nose and wet his lips.

He blows his nose softly and takes a new kleenex - holds it ready.


	31. Underground

_A/N: In which Mad tries to be Joyce Carol Oates, and Dean sneezes._

* * *

Nobody moves. Nobody breathes, and Sam stares at Dean and Dean stares at Sam in this dark corner of the subway station, three a.m., abandoned not counting (_thhhk, thhhhk_: dragging footsteps) the wraith, the wraith that's sniffing them out. Sam's sweating and Dean's sweating and Dean's up against the tiles and Sam's got him pinned there, has got his finger jammed up under Dean's nose, Dean's flushed nose that wants so badly to sneeze. Watery eyed, Dean's biting his lip, he's stepping on his own big toe.

_Hhh-hh-HHH..._

_ThhhHHK, THHHKK_...

It drifts one step past... two... three.

"HHH-H-HAAATT-_CHSHHCHCHHHOOOOOO!_"

They're running.


	32. Whiteface

_A/N: Inspired by some costumed!sneezy!Winchesters I found at another site._

* * *

"This is the worst pladd ever." Dean sniffles and scratches at his ruffly neckpiece.

Sam motions with a quivering blob of face paint. "Do you have a better idea?"

"That stuff itches. Add I hate these shoes."

"The shoes are not negotiable."

Sam thrusts a purple fro at him, holds out a clown nose. Dean submits, scowling. "They're gudda laugh at us."

"And then they're gonna tell us what they saw." Sam's giving himself eye triangles.

"That or their paredts will call the c-cops... hh... hhHH-HH-HETCHH-_CHCHHHUUUHHH_-huh!"

The foam ball flies.

Sam softens. "It was redundant, man. Sit this one out."


	33. Not Lemon

_A/N: The sword-oiling can be innuendo if you want._

* * *

"Hhhh... hh-hh-_HRRRSHSHH_-oooh!"

"That's not good."

Dean snuffles, flushing. "I duddo. I'd have givedd it add eight out of ted. Baybe eight poidt five."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Maybe you should call it a night."

"_KKHRTCHCHH!_"Dean shakes his head muzzily, settles deeper into the couch. "A dight." He smiles brightly, keeps oiling his sword. Too many more blades glitter on the coffee table.

Sam rubs his face. "I'll bring you jello?"

The cloth stills. Dean stares, hawklike. "Dot lebudd?"

"Not lemon."

The back of Dean's hand hovers near his throat, then drops.

"Why Sabby. I do declare."

"Yeah. Bed, Scarlett."


	34. HC Birthday Madness

_A/N: Here's my triple-birthday explosion. It started with sidjack's (the first drabble) and skidded further into sneezy Dean territory from there. Which nobody asked for. I'm sorry. I tried to work in things you guys like too? :) Number two is for iheartSam7, fellow shameless persistent lover of sick boys. Number three is for The Tribble Master, who started in with the hedonistic Cas jokes before the show did. And sid's just a creative, big-hearted h/c junkie extraordinaire._

_

* * *

_

The dome light snaps on and floods the white cotton taped to Sam's inner arm, the cast on his leg. His face scrunches up like salt on a leech.

"HhhHH... h-how you dewidd, pal?" Dean slides into the driver's seat, tosses their meds between them. "HHHH-_HIJSSHSHK!"_

"Dean." Sam's voice quavers, his hair crazy like the bible. His palm's on Dean's forehead. "Be healed."

Gently, Dean tucks Sam's arm down. "OK, Boses."

"Hold onto pearls."

Dean shields Sam's fluttering slit-eyes. "I dod't dow what they gave you, but I wadt subb."

"Trout are free..."

"HUH-_KGGCHCHHTT!_... World's our oyster. Sleep, yugg sailor."

---

_"KHHKKHH! KHKHHKH_-huh! Hih-_KHTCHCHH!"_

In the lamplight Sam swallows, watching Dean jerk forward with each sneeze until he's wrapped around his kleenex, fumbling for the box. Sam nudges it closer.

"Uh."

Dean straightens, sniffling, nose redder than before. "What?"

Sam loses him in a wave of spots. "I'm gonna..." He feels for his crutches. A sudden sense of movement suggests he's being manhandled.

When he starts retching, there's a cool hand on his neck. Afterwards a towel falls around his shoulders.

Later he wakes up in bed, his leg throbbing. Dean's holding a tissue, motionless, eyes narrow. "Hhhh... bordigg, s-sudshide... HAH-_TCCHCH-CHCHHUGH!_"

---

"You are ill."

"I prefer to thigk of it as dasally challedged. Hhhh-_TCHOO!"_

Castiel cocks his head, watches Dean Winchester engage twice more in the activity known as sneezing. They're taught this is painless. Castiel is privately unsure.

"There's a man," he begins. "In Wyoming. He..."

"Is he... hhhhH... gudda die?"

"No."

"Cas. Look. We deed a day here. Cub back toborrow."

"But he holds..."

"Or stay. Have a drigk. But we're... hhhHHH... d-dot goigg eddywhere 'til we've... hhh-_HESHSSHHUH!_... slept."

"Alcohol is not recommended..."

"Fide." Dean starts to shut the door.

Castiel opens his mouth.

"Bottoms... up?"

"Dow you're talkigg."


	35. Blanket

_A/N: E/O Challenge ("blanket")._

* * *

"Well, that was..."

Pale on the edge of his bed, Dean trails off. He's staring so hard Sam glances over his shoulder. Nothing's there.

"Yeah. I guess."

Dean shivers and stifles a sneeze in his palm, then groans and cups his eyebrow.

"How's your head?"

Dean shudders as the gel pack makes contact but holds it to his temple. The other hand curls around tissues. Shakily he blows his nose.

Sam tugs out the comforter edge from under the mattress. He drapes the creamy weight around Dean's shoulders.

"Lie down, man."

"Hh-HHH-_CHCHGG-CHOOOOO-_hooh!"

Blanket, ice and kleenex fly.

Dean collapses carefully.


	36. Bondage

_A/N: sidjack said, "Let's tie Dean up and make him sneeze." I said, "Good God yes." Watch for hers, later today._

_These two are unrelated._

* * *

He's pinned to the wall like a frigging butterfly, and now... now he...

...Definitely has a cold. How could Sam tell?

Maybe he can... if he's _really_... God, that itch, it's building up fast but the witch is too far so he... holds it, he holds it in. She's pacing the room, soliloquizing. He gasps -- and swallows, willing the tingles down.

"Isn't that right, Dean?"

"You'll have to speak up, sweetheart."

"You pretty thing."

She leans in close. Her eyes drop to his mouth. The warmth...

Buzzing... pressure... he goes perfectly still.

He'll land with both fists flying. He'll --

"HA-_SHSHSHHSHOOOO!"_

_

* * *

_

For once they're tied up face to face.

_"HGGKX!_ Uhhh-h... hih-_ISHSHH_-uh!"

Dean's doing his best to bury his nose in his armpit. Sam can see his arms working the bonds again for the first time in awhile, straining to cover his face as he --

_"CHCHGX_-shuh! _ITCHCH! _Hh-hh-h-_CHOOOO!"_

"You don't sound so good."

Dean sniffles and strains his nostrils toward his biceps. He almost makes it. "Goddab it." Flushed and snotty, he closes eyes.

"The funny part is that I have a napkin in my pocket."

Dean's boot heel comes up and hovers at Sam's waist.

"OK... let's talk about this."


	37. Next Stop Breakfast

Grey sky. Birds are going nuts. Sam shivers, stretches on slippery leather upholstery.

He pees against a telephone pole. Wet grass soaks the hem of his jeans.

"Next stop, breakfast."

Stillness. Sam glances at the passenger's seat. Dean's got a funny look on his face.

"_HRTCHCHZSSHSHHDGK!"_

The car rocks.

Dean wipes his hand gingerly on his thigh. He frowns, cheeks flushing. Sam follows his bloodshot squint out the window to a yellow-green field.

"That bedder dot be ragweed."

"I... uh." Sam swallows.

Dean's nostrils flare. "Hh-HH-HUH-_TZCHGHKH!"_

Sam starts the engine as the sound of juicy, crackling nose blowing fills the car. "Maybe pharmacy first."


	38. Drip

_A/N: E/O Challenge ("drip")._

* * *

"What are you doing?"

"Ree-_HH_-heee... ss-SS_-HURCHCH!" _The book tumbles off Dean's face and slaps the floor. "Aw... lost b'spot."

"You look..."

Dean pushes up on the couch, eyes puffy, nose dripping. He drags his blanket tight, snuffling.

"Oh, that's why you wanted hot peppers. They clear --"

"Shut up. I like the taste." He's unwrapping his burger, getting grease on the quilt.

"I didn't know you had a cold. I would've picked you up something."

"Dot sick, geedius. Just... _hh_-_HH_-huh... HA-_ATCCHCHH_-uh! Hih-_TCHCH! KTCHZCCHHCHG!"_

"Jesus. I thought you were taking vitamins."

"Whed you catch it I'b gudda hide all the cough drops."


	39. Hospital

Bright eyes waver across the ceiling, across Sam's forehead.

"Dean. Hey." Sam sits forward, drapes his arms over the guard rail. "How d'you feel?"

Dean frowns in slow motion. "Sab?"

"Yeah, man."

Dean sniffles, reaches for his head. The tubes stop him short. He squints at them. "What...?"

"That's your IV. It's OK, you want that there."

"Hh-_TCHCH!"_ Dean blinks, bewildered.

"Here. C'mere." Sam folds tissues into his hand.

"Why're...?"

"Remember falling?"

Dean's nose runs freely.

"Wood sprites?"

"...Had stupid shoes."

Sam snorts. "They did."

Dean notices his cast, pokes at it, flinches. "Tibe to go hobe?"

"Get better first."


	40. Big Picture

_A/N: Here are two unrelated drabbles. The first one's for Liafrombrazil, 'cause she's good to me, and 'cause she's having an eventful weekend. The second one's sort of SPOILERY for 5.12 only not really at all._

_

* * *

_

Dean falls on his ass climbing out of the motorboat.

He blanks on mooring hitch knots.

"What's wrong with you?"

---

His fingers won't close around the car key. Sam snakes it.

"You're like a block of ice."

"Turn up the th-thing."

---

Sam's guiding his palm to a steaming paper cup.

"You've been, uh, shaking. You want a doc?"

Dean squints out at a moonlit donut shop parking lot.

"You're k-kidding, right?"

---

Sam tucks hot water bottles around him and pulls up the covers.

"Dow this is wh-what I call r-r-roob service. Hh-hh-HHH-_GFTSHZH!"_ Dean honks into a tissue.

"Sleep tight, Iceman."

* * *

_Very vague SPOILER WARNING for 5.12 except not really because that part of the backstory is on the cutting room floor so proceed with caution and when in doubt eat chocolate._

* * *

"This is so dot fair."

"Drink your juice, boy."

"Gettigg it wudce would have bade sedce at least."

"Lie down, man. I'll bring you a hot water bottle."

"But idstead we swap bodies add I have your cold for you, add thedd we trade back add I get it agaidd."

"Idjit. There's a bigger picture. Michael and Lucifer missed a chance. We all got damned lucky."

"Hh-_KRGTSCH!_ Ugh... HEH-_TZHSH_-_TZZKJCHCHSHT!_ ...Lucky? Friggidd caught by owed germs. Takes taledt, is what."

"Dude, you know the drill. Go get horizontal."

"Sure. Just gotta sdeeze odd Bobby first."

"Blue blanket's on the sofa."

"...Really?"


	41. Let Us Know

_A/N: Welcome to the brave new level of plotlessness. Feel better, NT._

* * *

"Thank you so much for your time. Please let us know if there's anything we can do."

In the grieving parents' living room Sam gets up to go.

Beside him Dean doesn't move. He's planted on the floral couch, palms on his thighs. His skin's bright white against the red and purple blossoms.

Sam sizes him up and dips in closer. "Hey," he murmurs. "You coming?"

Dean's head tips up. His eyes on Sam's are shiny. "Uh." His hands rove to the couch back, the arm. "Yeah." He braces himself, strains upward.

Sam grabs his elbow, scans the man and woman and turns back just as Dean's eyelids flutter. "Whoa, whoa." He grips Dean's thin suit at the waist. "Hey. 'SOK."

"Oh my god," says the husband behind him.

"I'm calling 9-1-1," adds the wife.

Dean's warm and still and heavy against Sam. His breath crackles faintly. Then he twitches and stumbles back.

"Hey, easy, easy." Sam's still gripping Dean's elbow and Dean's frowning, leaning into it hard. "Shh, shh, you're good."

Dean's hair is wet with sweat. His chest heaves. He blinks and squints at Sam, at the others. "What...?"

"You fainted, man. It's fine. I got you." Sam inches in to support him better, feels Dean's hot forehead find his shoulder. "Ouch. ...Sorry. Flu. Thought he was over it." He shuffles his brother gently toward the door. "We'll get out of your hair."

"Do you need anything?" the woman blurts.

"He could rest on the sofa," offers the man.

"No. Thanks. Uh." Sam shifts Dean's weight as Dean rips a button off Sam's cheap dress shirt and sneezes explosively into his jacket. "We're not far from here. Really, we'll be fine."

And after a mountain of tissues and Tylenol, they are.


	42. One Eighty

Dean slaps his palms over his nostrils, eyebrows shooting up.

"Really?"

Slit-eyed, Dean nods, chest spastically inflating. He freezes, then exhales, flushing.

"Did you take the...?"

"I took it, OK?" Dean rubs his red nose with a napkin and wetly blows.

"Do you need to like, lie down or something?"

"HHH... h-huh. Seriously?"

"God. You're like a volcano of snot. I'm taking you back."

"The hell you hhhH-HHH-hiiiihh..." White tissues flutter.

"That's quite the cold, man."

"HEH-_TZSHGKHH! TSHSHCHKHFH! _HUSH-_SHHHSHOOO!"_

"Wow. Bless you."

"Sab, terd aroudd!" Dean paws the glovebox. "Just, where's the freakigg asprid?"

"Beside your bed."

"I hate you."


	43. The Sammy MakeUp Chapter

_A/N: Happy birthday, Musica Diabolos! It's Sam's turn, and I tried to catch him up all in one go. E/O Challenge ("shield")._

* * *

_"HSHH! TSHSHH!"_

"Bless you."

"Th-huhhh... huh-_KHSHH! SHSH_-huh!"

"You OK?"

"H-h-huhhhh... hoh, OK. Huh-K-_TCHHOOOOO!"_

"You've got a little something right there."

"Ah... guh... hoo... _GTXCHG! KHHAH!"_

"He's not usually like this."

"Hh-hih-hihhh... hih-hhhhh... hhHHH-_KTCHCHH_uh! HEH-_TCHCHHOOOO!"_

"You know what, officer? We'll just come back another time."

"G-g-_KHKHKH!"_

"What's wrong with you?"

"I dod't... d-dod't... _HUSHSHH_uh!"

"Here, I got a napkin."

"Gibbee that. Oh, g-god... _HKZHHH_hoo! _TCHH-CHCH-CHSHSHH!"_

"You allergic to cops now? That might actually come in handy."

"Deed. That shield! There bust've beed hh-_KTCH_uh! Heh-heh-HEH-_HIIISHSHH!"_

"What, perfume? Well, we're outside now, pal. Suck in that air. C'mon."

"H-hrrr... _KSHHSH_uh! Hah-AAAAH-t-_TCHOO! CHCHOOOO!"_

"Or do that."

* * *

_A/N 2: Shields hung on walls in police stations allllways have perfume sprayed on them. *shifty eyes*_


	44. Petting Zoo

_Prompt (from LJ): Sam, Dean, gen, set any season, around April Fool's Day. Sam is fed up with all the pranks Dean is pulling on him, so he plans a prank of his own, something that causes Dean to maybe fall or jump into some body of water - it's up to you. But Sam doesn't know that he's already coming down with a cold, and he gets even sicker, and then he needs attention (and maybe cuddling) from a guilty Sam to get him all warmed up and feeling better._

* * *

Sam watches Dean get dressed. Undershirt, T-shirt. Flannel. Dean sneezes into his wet towel and drops it in the sink. Hoodie.

Hoodie.

"Are you still cold?" Sam runs a hand down his own bare arm and glances out at the garden centre across the road. There are tulips.

"It's cold id here." Dean's breath catches. He pushes out a breath and rubs his nose.

Sam raises his eyebrows. "Huh. You don't sound so good."

"Shut up."

"Yeah. Like you're stuck inside a phone booth. With a bassoon."

Dean cups his sweatshirted hands, double-gasps, and barks a sneeze into the long sleeves. He snuffles, then straightens carefully.

"You've got a cold."

"You're a geedius." Dean sags onto his bed and melds with the pillow.

"I didn't think... you never... a lake?"

"A lake. Id this weather? 'Course, a lake."

A man walks past the window in shorts.

"My bad, man."

"Takigg advadtage of by sedse of chivalry," Dean mumbles into off-white cotton. "Uhgr... ih-hhuh... _HRRtzpfkggK-HOO!"_

"Ouch."

Dean gropes the bedside table, knocking down a notepad and an alarm clock.

"Wait. Wait." Sam brings him a roll of toilet paper. The hands that take it are chilly. "Here. God. I'm sorry."

"You should be." Dean honks into the tissue and launches it at his head.

"Hey." Sam tosses his own comforter over Dean. "Be nice. I'll get you hot chocolate."

Dean's teeth audibly chatter.

Sam winces. "Damn it. You're really sick. Hold still." He dips in and rubs Dean's back through the blanket, fast and hard, back and forth, for friction.

Dean coughs, but doesn't move. "What is this, a peddigg zoo?"

When Sam gets back with the drink, Dean's sprawled in toasty sleep.


	45. Sfide

"This expired in 2004."

"'Sfide. Give it."

Sam weighs the blister pack. "Seriously?"

"You wadda beat Pestiledce or dot?"

Sighing, Sam drags his eyes over Dean's faceful of soaked Kleenex. "Yeah."

"They just pridt a date to scare people idtuh-HHH... idtuh buyigg bore. HHHH-uh... _KHKHXZHH_-hyuh!" Dean snaps double, mousetrap-fast. He honks, dabs. "Hoo. We got eddythig else?"

"No."

"So fork it over." He spreads back into the headboard, cups his goosebumped arms. "Dude, for real. This sucks. Get bee off the bedch. " He snuffles.

"Yeah. OK." Sam pops out two pills, proffers fresh tissues. "This is ghetto, man."

"HhhHHH-_TCHHGZHZHF! _'Sfide."


	46. Cockatrice

_A/N: Happy birthday, Swellison and Impaladreams! Happy birthday too to brattyteenagewerewolf, even though this doesn't really fit your birthday wishes. I hope Sam and Dean swarm you all with pie and balloons and big warm hugs!_

* * *

"Hihh..."

Sam blinks at Dean, then scans the desk line. Clear. "Shh."

Dean glares and exhales shakily, fingering his red nose.

Nails click on tile; the cockatrice is moving.

Dean sucks in a fast breath. Sam clamps his nostrils.

_"Hrh-hh..."_ Dean's eyes slit. He holds his breath. "...Ugh."

Sam levels a warning look, releases him and presses _play_. A rooster crows in recording.

There's unearthly squawking, leathery flapping, a resounding thud. Two white feathers twirl down.

"AA-_hh-h_-_HASHSHH_-uh! HEH-_XXXSHH!" _

"'Medicine's for pussies'? Dude... you're ridiculous."

Dean pokes his head up, stands and plucks Kleenex off the desk. "That was bore ridiculous."


	47. Gratuitous Gratuitousness

Into the menu while the waitress is setting down his coffee:

_"HKGRTSHSHHH!"_

Over his shoulder at the fire station:

"Hhh-_KTSSS_-kh-kh!"

Onto the steering wheel:

_"HRRRTCH!"_

Cupped in his tie, followed up with a grim blow:

"HIT-_ZHSHGKH!"_

Against the napkin he finds wedged between seat cushions:

"Uh-_KHKHT!"_

Stupidly into the air, holding the Kleenex from Sam by one corner:

"Hhh-_SHSHSHOO!"_

Hidden behind a newspaper:

_"ITCHCH!"_

Triggering a bitch-ass headache:

_"KGKKH!"_

Spitting out Tylenol:

_"PPBTSH_-huh!"

Raw-nosed into a damp clump of tissues:

"Hih-HH-_HUGKTCHCH!"_

Meekly onto his pillowcase:

_"HESHSSH!"_

Spilling soup all over himself:

"Hh-_GKTCHCH_-uh! Dabbit!"

Accidentally in Sam's face:

_"ASHSHH_-uh! Oh shit."


	48. Gravy

_A/N: Hey, so, this was for a prompt of dante-s-hell's on LJ, so it's totally for her, but I also want to send it out to Nana56 just because._

* * *

"Give me palm trees or give me death."

Sam frowns and watches Dean check the heater for the third time. "Dude. It's on."

Dean's eyes flick to his, then back to the black strip of pavement in his headlights. "This'd be the perfect spot for it to crap out, wouldn't it? Friggin' Montana."

"Could be worse. Could be the North Pole."

Dean shifts in the driver's seat. "What, are you kidding me? You think Santa'd leave our sorry asses to the elements?"

"I don't think Santa mounts rescue missions for kids on the 'coal' list."

Eyebrows up, Dean shakes his head. "Man. That's just c... _cuh... hh-HHH-CKCKGZH!"_

"Cold?"

Dean pinches his nostrils, then sniffs and wipes his hand on his jeans. "That."

Sam unzips his jacket. He crosses his legs and slouches deeper in the seat. "You catch a bug, there, kiddo?"

"What? No. Why?" A cough bursts out of Dean. It's followed by a rapid string of them. They're hard, falling all over each other, like they've been waiting a long time to get out. When Dean's done, his eyes look wet.

Sam turns to the cool window and considers the moonlit field of snow outside. "No reason."

* * *

It's close to ten when Dean pulls into the dodgy-looking gas station. He kills the engine and says, "Your turn."

While Sam's pumping gas he sees Dean lean across to the passenger side and tug open the glove compartment. Dean digs around in there, pushing junk left and right, and produces a couple of napkins. He brings them to his face and leaves them there for awhile. Sam's screwing the cap back in when there's a muffled shout and the car rocks once, faintly. He glances in and sees Dean working the napkins against his nose.

He cracks the passenger door on his way in to pay. "Did you just sneeze so hard it rocked the car?"

Dean pulls the tissues down. "Gee, Sab, let bee check by diary." He mimes opening a book in mid-air and flips through it, the crumpled wad clutched in his palm. "Oh yeah, here's the part I was lookigg for: close the door."

"Why, Dean? Because of your chill?"

"Doe. Because you're gudda get this id the face if you dod't." Sam shuts the door just as he's taking aim.

* * *

"Scoot."

Dean shudders, squares his shoulders and squints up at Sam. Their breath fogs between them.

"I'b sorry. Did you just tell bee to scoot?"

"I got you medicine. If you take it you get a treat."

"How about bee dot kickigg your ass? How's that for a treat?"

"This one's better." Sam dangles the plain white plastic bag and watches Dean track it with his eyes.

Sniffling thickly, Dean flips up the collar of his coat and presses it around his throat. "What is it, hotshot?"

"It's a surprise."

Dean's nostrils flare. His eyes lose their focus. "GK-_PBPBTZCH!" _He leaves his palm clamped around his mouth and nose. "Tell bee there's Kleedex id there."

"Two boxes."

Dean snatches the bag. When Sam starts to sit on him, he moves over.

* * *

Sam isn't angling for a year's worth of blackmail material. That's just a happy byproduct.

It starts with some gentle scolding about the chill from the window and the infection Dean's fighting. The cough syrup/flu pill combo's got Dean compliant enough that with a minimum of sleepy grumbling he's flopped down with his ass against the door and the top of his head poking Sam's thigh.

"You can thank me when you don't get pneumonia," Sam says, but Dean's already snoring.

They're sneaking up on Idaho when Sam notices the puddle of drool forming on the leather beside Dean's mouth.

"You're gonna love that."

He eases a tissue out of the box and surreptitiously dabs at the pool, then folds the Kleenex over and wipes again. He checks his work and spots a slick shininess coating the skin between Dean's nose and lip.

"Aw, gross, dude." Sam makes a careful pass at it. It's not careful enough: Dean flinches at the contact and heaves himself upright, gasping and coughing, staring bug-eyed out the windshield. Turning and seeing Sam, he ducks and raises a trembling arm in defense. The hair on the left half of his head is spiked straight up.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey. Chill out, Dean. You're good, man."

Dean rubs his eyes and takes a breath in through his nose. "Hmmhh."

"Yeah. OK. How you feelin'? Good sleep?"

Blinking quickly, Dean blanches.

"Hey. You gonna spew?"

Dean's face crumples into a frown. He pats the seat beside Sam, finds an elbow and tips down, nuzzles into it.

"Yeah, good. Right. Get your head down."

Dean snuffs an airy sneeze into Sam's arm, arches his back in a catlike stretch, sighs, and starts to snore.

Soon afterwards, the shivers make a comeback. Dean burrows further into Sam's side, slowly working his way up toward the armpit. He oozes a trail of sticky secretions that leaves Sam fantasizing about laundromats. Sam drapes an arm over his disgusting, too-warm brother and self-consciously rubs his side whenever he whimpers.

* * *

There are pictures. There are a lot of pictures and they're on Sam's phone. And they'll be useful later. But when Dean wakes up, face screwed up against the bleak Utah morning, head coming out from under Sam's, strands of spit and snot trailing from his nose and mouth to Sam's shoulder, and croaks, "Dude, were we cuddligg?," Sam laughs until he has to pee. The rest is all gravy.

"Add why ab I wearigg your hoodie?"

* * *

end

Prompt: _Dean and Sam (gen). On the Road to Nowhere, Dean starts to get sick. Sam decides he needs to drive. Dean argues, but Sammy wins (was there any doubt). What I'd really like to see is Dean finally giving in and laying his head on Sam's shoulder, complete with drool and snot staining Sam's t-shirt._

_You can get them to a motel and finish the "care" part there. But what I'd really like to see is Sam trying to take care of Dean and drive at the same time. Dean bitching about taking care of the Impala would be bonus!_

_Double bonus: Sam wraps Dean in his hoodie!_


	49. It That

_A/N: I wrote these awhile ago as language exercises for somebody very fabulous who wanted to practice when to use demonstrative-it and when to use demonstrative-that. Today I looked at them and thought, "Hey, I still like them." I don't think I ever posted them. __*shifty eyes* _If I did I'm officially embarrassed. 

* * *

"You gonna eat that?"

Sam looked up from his book. He glanced down at the half-eaten apple in his hand. "What? This?"

Dean licked his lips and scratched his arm above the cast. "Yeah, that. What, you think I wanna eat your paperback?"

"OK... first of all it's half-eaten, second you don't EAT fruit unless it's cooked into a pie, and third... how can you already be hungry again?"

Dean scowled. "Being cooped up gives me an appetite. I can't help it."

Sam took in his brother's pale face above his plaster-covered arm and frowned. "You OK? Is that itchy?"

"Not unless you talk about it." Dean dug a finger fruitlessly down inside it. "Ugh. I hate that." His face crumpled up and he sneezed helplessly. "And that."

Sam sighed. "Are you really hungry? You look sort of crappy. Maybe you do need something."

"Something like pizza." Dean blew his nose and threw Sam the car key. "Get extra onions on it. And bacon."

Sam huffed. He got up and shrugged into his coat. "Yeah, all right. And then you're gonna take your cold pills and go to sleep."

Dean started to raise his broken arm to wave, and winced. "Mmh." Sam was out the door.

"We'll see about that."

* * *

_A/N2: And then, unrelatedly..._

* * *

There was a thermometer between Dean's lips, the long thin glass thermometer from Bobby's medicine cabinet. Sam could hear it bouncing off Dean's teeth. The patchwork quilt that was usually folded over the back of the couch was tucked sloppily around Dean, leaving his neck exposed but pulled tight and smooth at his ribcage. Its ends, dangling over the edge of the sofa, swayed a little as Dean shivered.

Sam checked his watch, got up from his chair and held out his hand. "Here. Gimme that."

Just then, Dean's face scrunched up and he sneezed a huge sneeze, spitting the thermometer onto the dusty wood floor. "Ugh. Special delivery."

Sam frowned and moved the Kleenex box onto Dean's lap. "Yeah. Thanks, I think." He bent down, picked up the slippery thermometer and dried it on his jeans.

Bundled up, Dean ignored the tissues and just sniffed once, hard. "Well? What's it say?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. He sighed. "It says you're sick."

"Is that a fact." Dean shuddered harder, teeth clacking in his white face.

Sam set the instrument down and adjusted Dean's blanket so it snuggled up to his chin. "Yeah. It says to drink your tea and get some sleep and that maybe, just maybe, when you wake up, there'll be tomato rice soup."

"Wow, it says all that? Must have cost a fortune." In spite of himself Dean yawned, then sneezed on the tissue box.

Sam grimaced. "Just lie down, man. It'll do you good."

"Only because I like tomato rice soup." Dean sniffled, tipped over and buried his face in the soft red cushion.

Sam draped a heavy wool blanket over Dean. "Feel better."


	50. Teamwork

_A/N: Not that I'm (remotely close to being) done with sneezy Dean, but I'm finding the scrolling chapter list a bit cumbersome at this point, and Chapter Fifty seems like as good a place as any to sign off. I'm gonna post future sneezy Dean as separate stories. Everybody who commented on this ficlet-pack at any point, you made me smile like a goon, again and again. Thank you times seventy-six. :)_

* * *

"Uht-_CHCHHOO!"_

Sam looks up from the newspaper spread out over the diner table. Dean won't meet his eyes, just sniffles and pokes a key on the laptop.

"Gesundheit."

"Mm."

* * *

Dean's been fucking with the photo for a good twenty minutes, lining it up just right. A small queue of students is forming behind them at the copy machine, wearily shifting in their winter coats.

"Tape," Dean barks. Sam rips him off a piece.

"HuhhH..." Dean freezes, then blows out a hard breath and wiggles his nose. He smoothes the tape along one edge with his thumbnail. "Ihh... hhHH-_TCHSHSHOO!"_

The picture's spotted with liquid. Its ink's running.

"Son of a bitch."

* * *

When Dean picks Sam up at the cemetery there's a six-pack of boxes of Kleenex sitting in the backseat, and Dean's nose is suspiciously red.

Sam's eyebrows go up. "Everything OK?"

"Fide." Dean snuffles. "Find the grave?"

"Yeah. He's here all right."

"Good." Dean pulls out and Sam watches him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the whiteness of his face.

"You feel OK?"

"Deja vu."

* * *

"You are taking an unnecessary risk."

Dean whips around so fast he stumbles into the flimsy motel desk. It creaks under his palms as it takes his weight.

"Jesus, Cas. What the hell?"

Sam turns, halfway out the door. "Hey. You made it."

"Made it?" Dean chokes and then coughs until his face is red.

"Sam told me you were ill." Castiel sizes Dean up. "He was correct."

Dean sneezes messily into his sleeve. "And you're here to cure me?"

"No." The angel steps forward and presses two fingers to Dean's forehead. Dean flinches and slumps into his arms.

Sam helps Cas roll Dean onto his bed, peel off his jacket and tuck him in. "I owe you one."

"One what?"

Sam smoothes back Dean's hair and puts a box of tissues beside him on the bed. "One of something good."

* * *

_Prompt (from LJ): Gen. Dean gets the worst cold ever, refuses to admit he's sick, and Sam conspires with Bobby and Cas (or anyone really) to get him the rest he needs._


End file.
